


Time Asunder

by emynn



Series: All Kinds of Time [3]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:59:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynn/pseuds/emynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This isn’t a redemption story. Because Brian Kinney doesn’t need to be redeemed. He needs reminding. And he knows as well as I do that there’s no better person to do it than Justin Taylor. But Brian, of course, is his own worst enemy, and won’t allow Justin close enough to do so.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Asunder

Brian idly twisted the ring on his finger. This could have been his life. Sitting in front of the fire in the elegant manor, a wedding band on his finger, a drink in his hand. Could have been. Like so many other things in his life. Only this had been closer than most.

On a whim, he took Justin’s ring out and tried it on each of his fingers. It was too small for his ring finger, but loose on his pinkie. He spun it on his finger a few times, then sighed as he removed it to read the inscription: _Amor vincit omnia_. It had been Justin’s idea. Love conquering all had seemed to be an appropriate way to describe their relationship. 

Of course, like all of Brian’s other hopes and dreams -- the real ones, the ones that were actually worth a damn -- it had turned out not to be true. 

He set Justin’s ring back in the box and shoved it into the pocket of his pants, but kept his own ring on. It was fucking pathetic, far more maudlin than he had any right to be, but he needed to feel that weight on his finger. He may have ended it with Justin for good just a few hours ago, but the ring reminded him that it had all been real. It anchored him, at a time when he felt he was battling against a riptide.

Christ, he was beat. And thinking about what next week, next month, fucking next _year_ would entail only made him more exhausted. Shit, the entire idea of living just seemed like an impossible endeavor. What the fuck was he going to do with himself for the rest of his life? The words stretched out before him, impossibly long and incomprehensible: 

Rest. 

Of. 

His. 

Life.

It was such a goddamn waste. His life, which was already a collection of fuck ups, was only going to go downhill from here. There was absolutely nothing to look forward to, other than a sweet escape from it all, a death that would hopefully come sooner rather than later, to spare him the indignity of growing into a tired old queen.

A thought -- one that had always lingered in the back of his mind, but had mostly lain dormant in recent years before making a thunderous return this week -- flickered through his head, and Brian glanced over at the white silk scarf, still draped over the arm of the couch. Justin had assumed he’d gotten rid of it after the first time they’d managed to have sex following the bashing. In the dark, he had carefully removed the albatross from around Brian’s neck and cast it aside. _I heal you,_ he might as well have proclaimed. _I absolve you of your sins._

But Brian knew that was bullshit. Sure, it had been a milestone, and maybe Justin had forgiven him for fucking up his life, at least up to that point. Maybe Justin actually even believed what he said, that none of it was Brian’s fault. But Brian knew better. And so he’d taken the scarf and hidden it away, hanging it from a nail he’d hammered into the back of his dresser. Justin had never noticed.

It would be easier, he knew. If he really wanted to, he could end it now. Get high as a fucking kite, hang himself from the banister. Out in a blaze of glory, never having to face the shithole fate had designed as his future.

He rubbed his hands over his face, the coolness of his wedding band startling him. 

And there it was, the one thing that kept him glued to this spot. That fucking pathetic, minuscule shred of hope that refused to die, even when all common sense told it to surrender. _Fuck._

“Now, don’t go killing yourself just yet. I only just got here.”

Brian blinked. It couldn’t be.

“Hey, Brian,” Vic -- or, more likely, the hallucination that looked a hell of a lot like Vic in one of his Hawaiian shirts -- said. “Long time, no see.”

“Shit,” Brian said. “Is the cancer back?” Because if so, that settled every remaining question he had. He’d far rather face the scarf than another scalpel. 

“No.” Vic walked closer, and Brian resisted the urge to hide his head and huddle into the couch. “You’re perfectly healthy. In body, at least.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess,” Brian said. “Then why the fuck are you here? Shit. Was it the weed? I was desperate, Anita was the only one around, if she laced it with something …”

“It’s not the weed,” Vic said. “I’m here because it seems you’re not in the Christmas spirit. Or, rather, too much. Do you know how many extra prayers we get this time of year? People losing hope, people depressed ...”

“I’m not fucking depressed,” Brian said. He didn’t mention the hope. And he still had his doubts about the weed. 

“Of course you’re not,” said Vic, taking a seat on the couch and twirling the scarf in the air like a lasso. “You seem completely content and at peace with the world.”

“There’s a dead man hanging out in my living room. How the fuck is that supposed to make me feel?”

“Relieved, I hope,” Vic said. “Seeing as I’m here to save you from yourself. Vic Grassi, guardian angel to Brian Kinney, at your service.”

Brian blinked. “You? You’re planning to _save_ me?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I did a pretty damn good job last time around, didn’t I?”

“If you mean you gave me fucked up nightmares for months …”

“Whatever the method, the plan worked,” Vic said. “Brian Kinney lived to fight another day.”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “Great how that turned out. So, how the fuck are you planning on saving me this time? 

“Haven’t the slightest idea,” Vic said cheerfully. “I was sent on this mission without a roadmap.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” Brian said. “Christ, what the fuck kind of guardian angel are you?”

“The very best kind,” Vic said. “I’ve heard it on the best authority.”

“Judy again?” Brian asked, snorting.

“Actually, yes,” Vic said. “She sends her love. And, if you’re a good boy, I may even have a present from her to give you.”

“Oh, goody,” Brian said.

“Careful,” Vic warned. “She also wanted me to give you a kiss, but I thought I’d save that for a special moment.”

Brian opened his mouth to retort, but the irritating sound of a cell phone ringing interrupted them. “What, they give angels cell phones now? God can’t communicate just through telepathy anymore and instead keeps his angels on speed dial?”

“No, that one belongs to you.” Vic reached into his pocket and tossed a cell phone over to him. “Found it buried in the snow outside of Woody’s. Has barely stopped ringing for a second.”

“Yeah, how come the battery never lasts that long when I want it to?” Brian asked as he declined the call. He glanced down at the screen. Vic hadn’t been exaggerating -- there were countless missed calls and text messages from Justin, Michael, Ted, Cynthia, Lindsay, Emmett, even a few from Daphne. Rolling his eyes, Brian threw the phone aside. Even as he heard it clatter to the gleaming wooden floors, he could hear it ringing again. “Persistent little shits.”

“They learned from the best,” Vic said. “Now, Brian. I’m not going to bullshit you and force you to tell me why you’re such a fucking mess.”

“Gosh, thanks, Vic!” Brian said with a sardonic grin. 

“You’ve had a rough go of it,” Vic continued, as if he hadn’t even heard Brian. “Nobody would deny that. But there’s no reason to let it get you.”

“That’s not patronizing at all,” Brian said. “You’re really knocking this out of the park. You can tell Judy she did a bang up job training you.”

“Shut the fuck up, you little asshole, and try listening to reason for a change,” Vic said. “And maybe you’ll pay attention to me since I’m a dead man being torn away from an afterlife of endless whiskey to knock some sense into your head, even when you won’t listen to what your best friends and your lover are telling you.”

Brian frowned. “They give you endless whiskey when you die?”

“If you’re good,” Vic says, leering. 

Brian sighed and leaned back against the couch. “Fine. Since I’ve clearly lost my fucking mind in more ways than one, just say whatever the fuck it is you think I need to hear. Then maybe I won’t have to spend my holiday with a ghost.”

“You should be so lucky. I’m fucking fabulous at parties.”

Brian rolled to his point. “Get to it, Casper.”

“You need to be honest with Justin.”

“I’ve never lied to Justin,” Brian snapped.

“I never said you did,” Vic said. “But have you told him how much you’re struggling being here without him? That you miss him? That you’re afraid of a future without him -- and not because you’re in a state of panic, but simply because you’ve realized that life is infinitely better when he’s around?”

Brian stared at Vic, not blinking, not saying a word. After all, what did he owe a fucking drug hallucination? He should be lucky Brian was acknowledging him at all. Usually Brian just went to bed when his highs got this weird.

“Maybe even admit you need a little help? That maybe you’d even be okay with holding off on opening in New York if you had a better idea of where the two of you stood? That even you are capable of petty emotions like jealousy and have insecurities about your self-worth? That maybe despite your brave words, it’s not only time, and it’s killing --”

“Would you shut up?” Brian said, shooting to his feet. He rubbed the back of his neck as he began pacing the room. “Fuck!”

“It appears I’ve struck a nerve,” Vic said quietly. “I know you’re afraid, Brian. Being in love … it’s incredible, but it’s fucking terrifying at the same time, isn’t it? Opening yourself up so completely, having to trust the other person … You know, Brian, it’s difficult for all of us. Not just you.”

Brian rubbed a hand over his face, but still didn’t say anything.

“And it’s not even just Justin you’re worrying about, is it? I know he’s the easiest person to pin it on, but there’s more. Pittsburgh hasn’t quite felt the same since that spring. No Justin, no Lindsay and Mel, no Gus, Michael settling down so he’s not even yours like he once was. It’s as though everybody else’s lives are moving in exciting new directions, all of them spiralling away from you. And you’re so used to being on top, at the center of it all, being the one that others look to, that when it suddenly appears like you’re the one who’s stuck, you just don’t know what to do.”

Silence.

“But your friends will always be there for you. If you want them to be. Just say the word --”

“Christ, is this an after school special?” Brian laughed. He adopted a high-pitched voice and held his hand, limp-wristed, to his heart. “Oh, darling, your friends will always be there for you. All you have to do is believe in them, and in yourself, and love will lead the way!”

This time it was Vic’s turn to be silent. 

“I saw a shrink, you know,” Brian said, his voice returning to normal. “Three whole sessions.”

Vic raised his eyebrows. “Did you now?”

“Yeah.” Brian sniffed and rubbed his nose with his arm. “He thought he had me all figured out.”

“What did he say?”

“That, as a kid who got the shit kicked out of him on a daily basis by his old man, and who was ignored and manipulated by his heartless bitch of a mother, I learned that I couldn’t trust love to be given to me unconditionally,” Brian recited. “In my young and impressionable mine, I worked out that tiny infraction would result in loss of love. Then I grew up and, hey, Vic, look at me! I’m going to fuck things up in a major way every goddamn hour. But, in spite of myself, I don’t want to lose those delusional enough to stick around. So I attempt to tie them to me. I kiss and flirt with Michael so he can keep that hope alive that maybe, just maybe, he’ll be the one who makes me finally believe in love. I give Lindsay a goddamn kid. And Justin … fuck, what _wouldn’t_ I give him? Tuition, a place a to live, a fucking wedding with goddamn golden gardenias imported from China …”

“Is that really what you believe?” Vic asked.

“Doc says it’s true,” Brian said with a shrug. “And we all know doctors _never_ lie.”

“Well, they certainly don’t know you as well as you know yourself,” Vic said. 

“Are you saying you disagree with the diagnosis?”

“I’m saying what I said before,” Vic said. “You are not all that different from us regular mortals. We want those we love to be happy and cared for. I think that deep down, you did at one time believe that if you ever _were_ to fall in love with somebody, Michael would be your best bet. Hell, I think at times you even hoped that you would.”

Brian laughed. “Yeah, right,” he said under his breath.

“You knew Lindsay wanted a child more than anything, and you had it in your power to help her,” Vic continued. “And Justin … he got under your skin from the very beginning. You may not have understood why, but you knew there was something. And you would do _anything_ to keep him happy, even through all of your fuck ups. It’s why you loved him enough to marry him. It’s why you loved him enough to let him go.”

Brian turned to stare into the fire. He once again twisted the ring on his finger, the memories of Justin’s last night in the loft playing in his mind. 

“Now’s your chance, Brian. Love him enough to bring him back.”

“I’m not going to force him to give up his dreams to move back to Pittsburgh for me,” Brian said immediately. 

“That’s not what I’m telling you to do,” Vic said. “You need to bring him back to _you_. Open yourself up to him enough so he can help you. After all, that’s what he wants most in the world: for you to be happy. And you know what, confidentially? My sources tell me that if you tell Justin you want him back and what he means to you, the two of you will have many, many decades together together fucking to your cocks’ content. Even after all this.”

“Yeah, and at what cost?” Brian demanded. 

“Sorry?”

“Let’s say I get down on bended fucking knee and beg Justin to take me back, tell him I love him and he’s the only thing I want in this world, all that good shit. What’s he giving up?” Brian pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag. “Living an amazing life in New York? Fucking somebody his own age? Settling down with somebody who’s actually suited to be married?” He inhaled deeply. “Perhaps you’re going about this all wrong, Vic. Perhaps you, and _Judy_ , are the selfish ones. Why the fuck are you thinking about what _I_ want? What about Justin? What does he have to gain if he stays with me? A narcissistic, selfish asshole who drinks too much, smokes too much, with one good ball. Fuck, no. Sunshine’s better without.”

“Ah,” Vic said. “And so that’s why you’re killing yourself. Because you think Justin, and all your friends, would be better off without you.”

“No, I’m killing myself because I’m goddamn miserable, my life’s only sinking deeper into an bottomless shithole, and there’s nothing more pathetic than a middle-aged man with a beer gut pining over some poor lost love,” Brian said. His cell phone was still ringing, and he threw a pillow at it in hopes of at least muffling the noise. “I’m fucking dying already, Vic. You think somebody who lives the life I do, who has the coping mechanisms I do, lives a long and healthy life? So why prolong the inevitable?”

“Brian …”

“In fact, Victor, Sunshine’s the only thing that’s _stopping_ me from tying the noose around my neck. Because I know I’ve fucked him up so badly that he’d be a goddamn mess when they discover my body, and he won’t even realize it’s a fucking blessing. In fact, he’d probably end up blaming himself.” He shook his head, laughing bitterly. “And that is what happens when you’re stupid enough to fall in love with Brian Kinney.”

Vic rubbed his chin. “What are you saying, then? That everything would have been better if Justin had never met you? If you’d never crossed paths?”

Brian snorted. “Who wouldn’t be? Fuck, maybe my old man had the right idea all along. He didn’t need another goddamn kid. And Pittsburgh definitely didn’t need me.”

“Interesting theory,” Vic said. “Care to test it out?”

This time Brian laughed outright. “What, are you going to sprinkle some magic fairy dust and I’ll just disappear?”

“Well, fairy dust is such a bitch to clean up, I thought I’d spare you that,” Vic said. “But you have the general idea right. So, what do you say?”

“What the hell,” Brian said. “Why not add one more twisted delusion to this fucking night? It would at least make it the most interesting trip I’ve ever been on. Go ahead, Vic.” He stretched his arms out wide. “Make it so I was never born.”

The first thing Brian noticed was that the room grew very, very quiet. A second later he realized it was because his phone had finally stopped fucking ringing. Curious, he picked it up off the floor and flipped it open.

“I don’t have any voicemails,” he said. “There were about a hundred a minute ago.”

“There’s no Brian Kinney,” Vic said. “Nobody to leave messages for.”

“Well, that’s one way to avoid telemarketers,” Brian muttered. Then another glaring detail caught his eye. “Where the fuck is my wedding ring? If you lost it --”

“No Brian Kinney, nobody for Justin to have a short-lived engagement with,” Vic reminded him. “And no sense digging through your pockets. Justin’s ring isn’t there either.”

Brian felt his knees buckle beneath him, and he slid down onto the couch before he could embarrass himself further. The reality of it all -- if one could call being visited by a dead man a reality -- was starting to sink in. 

He had finally done it.

He’d cut himself off from everybody.

A surprising wave of grief rushed over him, as hundreds of rapid-fire memories, all now reduced to something between a dream and a fantasy, flooded his brain. Growing up with Mikey, smoking joints in the student lounge with Lindsay, meeting Justin, fucking Justin, loving Justin … Brian could remember them all, could see them play out in his mind, but now they belonged to him alone. As far as Michael, Lindsay, and Justin knew, none of those things had ever happened. All Brian’s memories were now worth just as much as his hallucinations after a particularly wild night at Babylon: absolutely nothing. Just fleeting images with an accompanying soundtrack. 

Brian felt like he was about to throw up.

But then another thought occurred to him. His memories may be worthless, and he may no longer have any connections with the world, but he was _free_. No ties, no responsibilities. No need to deal with his psychotic family trying to guilt him for money. No need to break his fucking neck trying to wrangle accounts to get to New York. No need to sit around, watching his friends pull further and further away from him, wondering when it would all be gone.

The waiting was over.

He was on his own.

And, shit, he was still relatively young and beautiful enough to appreciate it.

It may just be one hell of a hallucination, but fuck, he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. 

“Fucking incredible,” he breathed. He looked over at Vic. “What do you know? It’s a Christmas miracle.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Vic said.

“So, now what?” Brian asked, grinning as he went to investigate the liquor cabinet. It was, thankfully, still stocked, likely by the previous owners of the house. Or current owners of the house, given Brian’s whole non-status thing. Fuck if he understood anything that was going on. “Booze it up? Say, can you drink regular, non-afterlife whiskey, or does it have to come special from Judy?”

“Oh, I could drink you under the table,” Vic said. “But we’ll have to save that for another time.”

“Why?” Brian asked, holding up a bottle of Beam in one hand and Jack Daniels in the other. “It’s not like I’m fucking alive. I’ve got no appointments, right? I’d say it’s time to celebrate the day of my un-birth.”

“Nice try,” Vic said, and grabbed Brian’s arm. “But you’re on my time now.”

~*~

Brian blinked, clearing some of the snow out of his eyes. “Where the hell are we?”

“You’re going to have to put a little effort into this exercise,” Vic said. “I may have all the answers, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to give them to you.”

“How about for a blow job?”

“Now that’s how a man negotiates,” Vic drawled. “But why don’t you have a look around first, hmm?”

Brian heaved a sigh and glanced around the street. It looked like every other street in Pittsburgh: a galleria on the corner, a drug store, a couple of restaurants. People bustling around, their heads down, not making eye contact. A cop with a beer gut leaning up against a lamppost, keeping watch. Nothing special. 

“Come on now, Brian,” Vic said, exasperated. “Has the process of not being born addled your wits that much? Look around.”

Rolling his eyes, Brian looked around until he found a street sign. Once he located it, he blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. “Shit,” he said. “What the fuck happened to Liberty Avenue?”

“Little former police chief turned politician named Stockwell,” Vic said. “Heard of him?”

“It looks like a neighborhood for breeders,” Brian said, still stunned.

“That’s because it is,” Vic said. “Most of the businesses that gave Liberty Avenue its unique flair were shut down immediately after Stockwell became the mayor. By the time Prop 14 passed, the rest were gone. The locals even coined a cute little term for it: Fag Flight.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Brian said. “Stockwell was running a shit campaign before I started working for him. There was no way he could have won.”

Vic shrugged. “Remove one cog from the clock, and all of time is different.”

But Brian was already down the street, moving at a brisk jog, in search of the place that he knew would never shut down, no matter what Stockwell or the rest of the homophobes did. 

“Hey, excuse me,” he said, grabbing the elbow of yet another person hurrying by with his head down. “Could you point me in the direction of the Liberty Diner?”

“Yeah, it’s one block down. Can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” Brian said, then froze. He knew that voice. “Emmett?”

Finally, the man looked up and stared Brian straight in the eyes. It was definitely Emmett, but he looked staid, subdued. Hell, from the way he was dressed, he might as well be some typical yuppie hetero. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

Brian took a step back. Shit, whatever drugs he was on were completely fucking with his head. These hallucinations were like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He vaguely wondered who he was actually talking to: was it actually Emmett standing before him, but his mind was twisting his words, or was he talking to a goddamn tree? He didn’t know which one he preferred.

“Brian Kinney,” he said. “Ring a bell?”

“Can’t say that it does,” Emmett said. “Now, if you don’t mind --”

“Wait,” Brian said. “Have you had dinner yet? How about joining me?”

“I’m sorry,” Emmett said, shrugging Brian’s hand off his arm. “I don’t eat with with strangers. And _definitely_ not at the Diner.”

“Well, fuck me,” Brian murmured as he watched Emmett disappear into the masses. “I would have thought that my hallucinations would have made Emmett more of a queen, not less.”

“I told you, it’s not the weed,” Vic said. 

“Yeah, right,” Brian said, heading in the direction of the Dine. “You’re just a heavenly being descended to help me see the light.”

“Well, that’s closer to the truth than the weed, anyway,” Vic said.

The Diner, as always, stood out. But while before it looked as though a rainbow fairy had puked all over it, it now looked like a diner straight out of _Happy Days_. A fluorescent pink poodle even hung in the front window. It was a fucking travesty.

Still, perhaps some carbs would make the drugs wear off, so he grabbed a seat at his usual table, Vic following him. “This is so fucking pathetic,” Brian said. “Don’t tell me they specialize in vanilla milkshakes.”

“Well, if you don’t want to hear it, I’d advise against looking at the menu,” Vic said. 

“So, what’ll it be, cutie?”

Well, at least some things never changed, even if you dressed them up in a cream cardigan and a pastel pink poodle skirt. 

“Hey, Deb,” Brian said. “I’ll take my usual.”

“Well, sorry, sweetheart. You may be gorgeous, but you don’t get a usual before you’ve even set foot in this place.”

Brian frowned. The hallucinations were wearing very, very thin at this point. He was going to fucking eviscerate Anita. “Turkey sandwich on wheat, no mayo. Oh, and a side of fries. Vic?”

Debbie frowned. “Did you … did you say something?”

Brian looked over at Vic, who was shaking his head and making a slicing motion across his neck. “No, sorry.” 

“Sorry about that,” Vic said, watching Debbie walk away, a sad smile on his face. “I should have warned you. I’m still dead in this universe. Died on the very same chair. Even your influence didn’t change that.”

“And since you’re now my guardian angel, nobody else can see you?”

“Correct-a-mundo. It would be far too traumatic for all these good people to see somebody they knew died several years ago walking about.”

“But it’s okay for me to walk around with all my friends claiming they don’t recognize me? _And_ I fucking look like I’m talking to myself?”

Vic shrugged. “Those are the breaks. Besides, you’re the one who wished to enter this alternate reality where you were never born.”

“Fucking Anita,” Brian muttered. “I swear to god, I’m going to blacklist her whenever these fucking visions stop long enough for me to find Babylon.”

“You know, the sooner you accept Anita had nothing to do with this, the sooner you may actually realize the point of all of this entire exercise.”

“Yeah. Right.” Brian stood up. “I need some fucking coffee.”

While he sat at the counter waiting for Deb, who was standing with her back while she dialed a number on the phone, `he took a moment to look around the Diner. The clientele had certainly changed. Gone were the queers, the queens, the dykes. In their place were families with children, starry-eyed couples, and the occasional elderly grandpa reading the paper over toast. Christ. 

“Hi, Michael, it’s Mom.”

Brian froze, then leaned over the counter to listen in on Debbie’s phone conversation. 

“Just thought I’d give you a call to see how you were doing. Haven’t heard from you since Thanksgiving, after all. But that’s okay. I know you and David are busy, especially having Hank around.”

Brian frowned. _David_? The fucking chiropractor? He was starting to think this was less of a nightmare and more of Satan’s personal fantasy. 

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it out to Portland for Christmas. You know how expensive plane tickets are these days. Becky was joking that I’d practically moved into the Diner I was working so much, but still wasn’t able to scrape the money together. Anyway, just wanted to say I miss you. And if you and David ever have a spare weekend, maybe you can come home and visit. Hell, I’d even take a lunch while you’re on a layover on your way to France.” She sighed. “Bye, Michael. Call me sometime. I love you.”

Brian cleared his throat, and Debbie hurried out to the main dining area. “Sorry, sweetie. Just trying to get a hold of my son. You know how kids are.”

Brian snorted. “Yeah.”

“Have any of your own?”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “Kind of.”

“No kind of about it,” Debbie said. “Once you have a kid, you love him for life. No matter what.”

“Yeah, well that hasn’t exactly been my experience,” Brian said.

“Well, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?”

Brian froze. Maybe this was it. The magic word. He’d say it to Debbie, she’d recognize it, and this whole hallucination would come crumbling down. “Say,” he said. “Do you happen to know somebody named Justin Taylor? Actually sometimes goes by the name Sunshine?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, we get so many people in and out of this joint, it’s impossible to keep track,” Debbie said.

Well, that didn’t go as anticipated. Maybe it was a test. “Blond, blue eyes, button nose, great ass?”

Debbie laughed, and Brian, encouraged, continued.

“Smile that could light up the whole fucking room?”

Debbie shook her head. “Sorry. Although …”

“Yeah?”

“Just kind of reminds me of a kid who used to come in here. I never knew his name. He always ordered Cap’n Crunch and orange juice, sometimes coffee. But that was years ago. Before …” She leaned in close. “Before Stockwell took over.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Was there something you wanted?”

Brian shook his head. No, the puzzle pieces were beginning to fit together. This trip was a quest. Maybe Debbie wasn’t going to be final key, but she was a clue. Brian just needed to find Justin, and he’d wake up, back at Britin, where he’d vow never to mix high-end liquor and questionable weed again. “No, I was just going to say I’m feeling a little queasy, so I think I’m going to pass on dinner.”

“I’ll cancel the sandwich then,” Debbie said. “Soup for the road? Maybe some tea?”

“No, thanks,” Brian said. Then, on a whim, he leaned over the counter and kissed Debbie’s forehead. This might not be his Debbie, but it was Debbie nonetheless. “Take care of yourself, Deb.”

~*~

“Brian!”

“Still following me?” Brian asked, not turning around. 

“Well, you are my assignment,” Vic said. 

“Right,” Brian laughed. “My very own guardian angel. Where are your damn wings?”

“They clashed with my shirt,” Vic said. “Now, why don’t you tell me where you’re planning on going? Might I remind you that I have ways of getting us there other than you going on an evening run.”

“I’m going to find Justin,” Brian said. “Then I’m going to wake up from this bad trip. Although I have to say, Vic, if this whole nightmare was a plan to get me to not want to kill myself, it’s failing spectacularly.”

“I told you, Brian,” Vic said. “It’s not the weed, it’s not the liquor, it’s not any other drug you may have taken in your lifetime. This is your new reality. You chose it.”

“Yeah. Right.” Brian paused and held his head in his hands. He had to fucking think. Debbie said she hadn’t seen Justin since before Stockwell. Where would Brian have been able to find Justin then? St. James? PIFA? The fiddler’s shithole of an apartment?

“So why are you fixating on Justin, anyway?” Vic asked. “You have a number of friends you could visit.”

“That’s what started this whole thing, isn’t it?” Brian asked. “You said I needed to open up to Justin. I find him, I share my innermost feelings, and I wake up. Done. I’m sure there’s a Freudian analysis in there somewhere.”

“I’m sure,” Vic said. “Although --”

“If you say one more time I’m not going to wake up, I swear to --”

“Fine, I won’t say it.”

“I just need to concentrate,” Brian said. “Shit. His house. His fucking parents’ house. That’s where he’d be. Home in bed, safe and sound.” He looked over at Vic. “Well? Aren’t you going to teleport us? I wish to go to the Casa de los Taylors.”

Vic frowned. “I don’t know if that’s a great idea.”

“I really don’t give a shit,” Brian said. “Now, you can either get us there with your little fairy dust, or we’re going to have to get there the old-fashioned way, which is going to suck since my car is twenty minutes away with a nice tree-shaped dent.”

“Well, technically you don’t have a car since you’ve never been born and so you never had to make payments, but --”

Brian grabbed Vic’s arm. “Just fucking get us there.”

Vic sighed and nodded his head. In an instant, they were on the front step of the oversized dollhouse that was Justin’s childhood home. Not hesitating a second, Brian rang the doorbell, then began banging on the door when nobody answered fast enough. “Justin!” he shouted. “Justin!”

The door swung open. “Who the fuck are you?”

Of course it would be Justin’s dad. This whole thing was a fucking test, after all. Brian had to prove himself worthy, or some shit like that. “Don’t make me punch you like I should have all those years ago,” Brian spat. “Just get Justin.”

“You know Justin?”

“Of course I fucking know Justin,” Brian said. “I fucked his brains out every night. I held him when his head was bleeding all over the garage floor. I almost fucking married him. So would you just kindly open the door and tell me where he is?”

“Craig? Who is it?” Jennifer peered out from behind Craig’s shoulder.

“It’s nobody,” Mr. Taylor said in a low voice. “Call the police.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Jennifer, you know me. You’ve been at my loft. You helped try to _sell_ my loft. Twice.”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” Jennifer said. “And I’m definitely not a realtor. How do you know my name?”

“Justin --”

“You knew Justin?”

“Why does everybody keep fucking asking that?” Brian said, shoving Mr. Taylor aside and storming into the house. “I’ve known him for years. Justin!”

“Brian!” Vic hissed, grabbing his arm. “Calm down.”

“Shut up!” Brian shouted. He made his way through the house, checking all the rooms, opening the doors, checking behind furniture. “Justin!”

“You’re going to get yourself into trouble,” Vic said. “Justin’s not here. Let’s go.”

Brian froze. “You know where he is.”

“Brian …”

“You know where he is, and you didn’t tell me? You fucking shit!”

“Okay, buddy, you’re coming with us.”

“What the --”

Brian fought back, but the cops were efficient, and soon had his hands cuffed behind his back. “Vic! Vic, fucking do something.”

“I _did_ warn you.”

“Vic!”

“I’ll meet you at the station.” And, with a wink, Vic was gone.

“Shit,” Brian muttered. “You’d think not being born would entitle you not to get arrested.”

“You can tell us all about it at the station,” the cop said, and marched Brian out of the house.

Once in the car, Brian closed his eyes. Somehow, he was starting to believe Vic, that these weren’t all just fucking powerful hallucinations brought about by some bad drugs. Because there was no way, no fucking way, that any hallucination could be like _this_. 

But that would mean that this was all real.

That had stepped into an alternate reality where he really had never been born, but somehow still existed.

Where none of his friends knew him.

Where Justin was … missing.

Not missing, Brian corrected himself. Just not around. 

Really, Brian had everything he’d ever wanted. He could move far away, start over. Maybe move to Cabo and drink expensive tequila until he finally kicked the bucket. It was what he’d dreamed of since he was a teenager.

Feeling bile rising in his throat, Brian leaned over and vomited onto the seat next to him.

“Sorry, officers,” he said. “Something must’ve disagreed with me.”

~*~

Brian sat on the cot in the holding cell, staring straight ahead at the wall. He’d been brought in and fingerprinted -- one perk of having never been born was that suddenly his record was wiped clean -- and then left to sit here, likely to rot.

“Are you done with your temper tantrum now?”

Brian glared at Vic. “Nice of you to show up. Why didn’t you help me at the house?”

“Too many people around,” Vic said. “Would have been too obvious, far too complicated to clean up. Now we just need five minutes for the cops to be distracted by the stray cat with a mean streak I left in the bathroom, and we’re home free.”

“Yeah, speaking of which,” Brian said, “I’m ready to go home. I get it. The world is weird as fuck when I’m not in it. So just wave your magic wand, take me back to the house, and set things back to the way they were before.”

“No.”

“No?” Brian repeated. “It’s my wish that makes it happen, isn’t it? That’s how we got into this whole mess. So, go on. I wish for things to be as they were before. Now do it.”

“I can’t,” Vic said. “I’m under strict orders not to come back until my mission’s successful, and I only have one shot. And, frankly, I’m not convinced.”

“Do you want me to write you an essay?” Brian asked. “‘How I Learned My Life Was Worth Living -- in Only One Night’?”

“I can think of better ways to earn some extra credit,” Vic said. “But frankly, I think if I brought you back now, you’d probably be freaked out for a week and then return to your old habits. You’re not ready yet.”

“And how will you know when I’m ready?”

“The same way I can tell you if something’s pornography,” Vic said. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “You really are the weirdest fucking angel I’ve ever seen.”

“Have you seen many?” Vic asked.

“Only at Angels and Demons night at Babylon,” Brian said. “Shouldn’t you be in robes or something? With a halo? They could have at least given you a goddamn facelift. Angels aren’t supposed to have wrinkles.”

“Thanks for your opinion,” Vic said. “Although you’ll be happy to know that once you enter the great beyond, you’re allowed to look however you want.”

“And you chose that mug?”

“Most people choose to appear how they did when they were the happiest,” Vic said. “For some, it’s when they’re young. You’d be surprised at the number of children running around up there. Some of them died in a nursing home, but nothing ever really topped grade school for them. Sad, really.”

Brian snorted.

“Then there are people like Judy. She died young, but she’s even younger in the afterlife. Early twenties. She told me it was when she finally believed she was beautiful, when she still had hope that she was going to find that everlasting love and live a long and happy life.”

“Well, your twenties are your only years worth living,” Brian said, his voice harsh. “When you and the world are still young and beautiful. Why didn’t you choose that for yourself? You were a bit of a stud back then, from what I’ve heard.”

“Because I was happiest the year I passed,” Vic said. “I had Monty, I had my own home, I had my disease under control, at least so I thought. And when Monty joins me, I want him to recognize me.”

“And what if Monty enters the great beyond and looks like a teenager? Then what? You still going to fuck for all eternity together?”

“He might,” Vic conceded. “But I know Monty. I know what we shared. And so I have faith.” He cocked his eyebrow at Brian. “How about you, Brian? Not that it’s relevant, since if you’ve never been born you can never die, but if you were to die today, as you were contemplating you would earlier, what age would you be? Would you be just out of college, starting your new life in Pittsburgh? Maybe a year or so later, when you were beginning your reign as the god of Babylon?”

Brian said nothing. Guardian angel or no, was none of Vic’s fucking business.

“Or would it be when you, Brian Kinney, were in your thirties?” Vic asked in a low voice. “Maybe when you were sure Justin was going to be all right after the bashing, when the two of you were acting like fucking newlyweds, before your old hang ups got the best of you. Or maybe when Justin returned to you after his dalliance with Ethan, or when the two of you teamed up just like Rage and JT to take down Stockwell, and you felt powerful enough to take over the whole goddamn world together? You may not have had any money or known what was going to happen next, but you had Justin, and that was more than enough.”

Brian bit the inside of his cheeks, still determinedly looking anywhere but at Vic.

“Or was it actually during that brief engagement? Because through all that fear, through all that panic, you at least knew that since you were finally giving Justin what he wanted, that you’d no longer ever have to worry about losing him?”

“Don’t we have a prison to escape?” Brian said, standing up. “How long can that pussy distract the cops?”

Vic laughed. “I love it when I’m right,” he said. He leaned up against the cell door and, miraculously, it opened, as though it had never been locked. He waggled his eyebrows at Brian. “Trick of the trade.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to show me sometime,” Brian said, brushing past him. “But for now I’d just really like to get out of here.”

Brian wasn’t entirely surprised, since this entire experience had been remarkably surreal, but somehow Vic’s prediction had been true and not a single cop glanced their way as they made their way out of the station. Not that Brian wanted to have a dead man following him around all the time, but Vic was at least useful. When he wasn’t making him question his sanity.

“So, what’s the next stop on our little -- shit. Mel?”

Mel, at least, looked just like her old self, right down to her resting bitch face. “Melanie Marcus. I’m sorry, but I’m very busy. I have to meet a client.”

“Wait,” Brian said, stepping in front of her to block her path, ignoring Vic’s frustrated groan. “Do you remember me?”

“Sorry, I have a lot of clients,” Mel said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m already late.”

“You don’t remember me and Lindsay?”

Mel stopped in her tracks. “You know Lindsay?”

“Of course I fucking know her. I’m the father of your kid.”

Mel exhaled and shook her head. “No, we used a sperm donor.”

“You don’t have to be a bitch about it,” Brian snapped.

“An _anonymous_ sperm donor,” Mel said. “Christ, why am I even telling you all this? I need to go.”

“Hold on,” Brian said. “Where’s Linds? Is she around?”

“I thought you said you knew her,” Mel said, glaring at him. Somehow, the familiar expression was comforting to Brian.

“It’s been a while. Just tell me?”

“She’s in prison,” Mel said. “For at least another two years.”

“Fuck!” Brian dug into his jeans and pulled out a cigarette. “What for?”

“Married a French fag to get him a green card, got caught,” Mel said. “Judge was a good friend of Stockwell’s and wanted to make an example of her. Four years and a $100,000 fine.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Brian said, lighting up. “Where’s the kid?”

Mel’s face hardened. “Lindsay’s parents have custody of Abraham. Apparently I would be a ‘corrupting influence.’” 

“Mel, I -- “

“Excuse me,” Mel said, and this time Brian didn’t move to stop her.

“Christ,” Brian breathed, and braced himself against a nearby wall. “How the fuck did that happen? With me gone those two should have been eating each other’s muffs till the end of time. And now my kid’s going to grow up to be a homophobic WASP?”

“He’s not your kid,” Vic reminded him. “Lindsay never met a man she could trust the way she did you, so they went with a sperm donor. And you of all people should know the reasons people cite for the rough spots of a relationship aren’t always true.”

Brian wiped a hand over his face. “This is fucking insanity. I can’t … what’s next?”

“Well, so long as we’re here, I guess I should tell you Ted’s in prison as well,” Vic said. “Corruption of a minor, a few other trumped up charges. You know how it goes when a police chief mayoral candidate is trying to make an example of the CEO of a gay porn site.” He raised his eyebrows. “Care to visit?”

Christ, Brian had nearly forgotten about this pitiful nadir of Ted Schmidt’s former sad sack life. Honestly, sometimes he even forgot that this Ted was the same Theodore who was now his right hand man at Kinnetik. “I’ll pass,” he said. “But at least in prison he won’t become a crystal queen.”

“He won’t be in jail forever,” Vic said. “And I imagine he has a pretty bleak life ahead of him. No prospects. Nobody to help him. You saw Emmett -- he’s gone straight. Assimilated to the new Stockwell-led city.”

Brian closed his eyes. “I need to get out of here.”

“Your wish is my command,” Vic said, and placed his hand on Brian’s arm.

Brian opened his mouth, ready to bitch how _this_ wish Vic listened to, but they were already gone.

~*~

“So, now where are we?” Brian asked, looking around. It was a cloudy night, no sign of the moon or stars above, and they were surrounded by trees. Even if this had been a normal night, without Vic stalking him and telling him he wasn’t alive and none of his friends recognizing him, Brian still wouldn’t know where they were.

“I thought we’d go on a stroll,” Vic said. “It’s a nice night, isn’t it?”

“Being dead must have fucked up your head,” Brian muttered. “There has not been a single ‘nice’ thing about this night.”

“You’re the one who wished for it,” Vic said.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think it would actually come true,” Brian said. “And if it did, I thought it would wear off with the weed. Now I’m stone cold sober and walking through the woods with a dead man.”

“Sounds like a lovely evening to me,” Vic said, grinning.

Brian rolled his eyes. “Why are you here, Vic?”

“I told you,” Vic said. “It was clear you were in trouble, so a little intervention was necessary.”

“But why me?” Brian asked. “You can’t tell me that every time a guy gets a little down on his luck some guardian angel is sent down to save him, or to drive him to the brink of insanity by showing him what life would be like without him.” He blinked. “Shit, that’s it, isn’t it? You’re actually a demon trying to make me crazy enough that I slit my elbows without a second thought.”

“I’m only a demon at parties,” Vic said. “For a place full of righteous souls, they sure have a devil of a time up there.”

Brian raised an eyebrow, not convinced. 

“But you’re right,” Vic said. “Unfortunately, somebody isn’t sent down every time. You may be surprised to hear this, but even after several millennia, we still don’t have the resources to always provide this kind of service. And beyond that, as crass as it sounds … sometimes it’s simply a person’s time to go. The mind, body, and soul just wears out.”

“Then why me?”

“Because despite what you might think, Brian, you’re not meant to be done just yet. The powers that be have given you all the pieces to have a long, happy life. But they can only do so much. The rest, as they say, is entirely up to you. You have to grab life by the balls and _ride_.”

“I wrote that copy,” Brian muttered.

“I may be dead, but believe me, you can see your billboards from heaven,” Vic said. 

Brian snorted, then lit up another cigarette. “For those prices, you’d better. Now, mind if I give you some feedback on your performance?”

“Wow, you really have mellowed in your old age,” Vic said. “You never would have asked before.”

“This is the most inefficient rescue attempt I’ve ever seen,” Brian said. “If you were really concerned about saving me, if you actually believe that hypothesis you presented earlier that this is all tied back to my feelings about Justin, you would have shown me him first.”

“I never said this was meant to be a quick job,” Vic said. “Sometimes to do something right, you need to take a slower, but more thorough, approach.”

“Yeah, well all it’s done is convince me that the reason you must be avoiding showing Justin to me is because, as I suspected, his life is exponentially better without me in it,” Brian said, taking a long drag. “So, as charming as it was to see you again, I have to say that your mission was a failure.”

“You _really_ think Justin’s life would have been better if he’d never crossed paths with you?” Vic asked. “That knowing you, loving you, threw his life so irrevocably off-kilter? That you ruined his chances to have a good life? We’re talking about the same Justin Taylor, yes? That beautiful blond young man who was taking over the biggest city in the US with his art before he was even old enough to get reduced rates on a rental car?”

Brian snorted. “He could have done all that without me.”

“Such faith you have in him,” Vic said. 

“If you say some line about how if only I had such faith in myself or some other pile of bullshit that belongs in a Lifetime Christmas movie, I swear to --”

“I wasn’t going to say that, although it’s nice to know you’re thinking it,” Vic said. “That’s progress. No, I was going to point out that the only reason Justin was able to go to art school in the first place is because you helped him see that he should do what makes him happy, regardless of what his parents thought, and then you paid for his tuition.”

“He dropped out,” Brian said with a laugh. “Clearly that didn’t fucking matter. Kid’s a goddamn prodigy. He would have figured it out.”

“Well, if that’s what you think, that Justin truly would have been better off without you …”

“I don’t think it,” Brian said. “I _know_ he would have been. If I hadn’t taken him home that first night, he would have found somebody his own age to fixate on … or, at the very least, not become a graduate of the School of Brian Kinney, where pupils take advanced lessons in not giving a fuck and standing down to no one, even at the risk of personal safety.”

“So you’re saying he would have stayed in the closet?” Vic asked, his voice flat. “And that fate would have been preferable?”

“For while he was at St. James, yeah,” Brian said, tossing his cigarette to the ground and extinguishing it with his shoe. “If he’d stayed under the radar, he never would have jerked off that asshole in the locker room. He _definitely_ wouldn’t announced to all of Liberty Avenue that he’d given Hobbs a hand job. He wouldn’t have left his prom on a goddamn stretcher. He wouldn’t have been kicked out of his house, wouldn’t have spent what should have been his college years looking after an alcoholic more than a decade older than him who’d rather fuck around and get high than act like a functioning adult.” 

“Well, in the immortal words of Justin Taylor -- don’t flatter yourself.”

Brian blinked. Vic’s voice didn’t even sound like himself. He spoke, in fact, how Brian always imagined a ghost would -- with a low, monotone voice that echoed ever so slightly in the night, that was a whisper and a shout all at once. Brian shivered, feeling the cold for the first time that night. “What?”

“Justin did go home with somebody that night,” Vic said. “The experience was nowhere as memorable as with you, but it was an experience. He thought perhaps it would be better the second time, so the next night he went home with somebody else. And then somebody else. Usual routine.”

“Sounds like me,” Brian said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“His parents found out,” Vic continued. He stared straight into Brian’s eyes, unblinking. He reminded Brian of a cat, with those fucking freaky glowing eyes; even in the dark, he could still make out the intensity of Vic’s gaze. “And, perhaps to your surprise, Justin had a backbone, even without your influence. He refused to stay with them.”

“So, where’d he go?” Brian reached for another cigarette, swearing under his breath when he realized he was out.

“To Babylon. Where else?” Vic moved forward, gesturing for Brian to follow him. “Picked up a little career there. Justin always was a resourceful young man … and Sap was all too willing to help a pretty twink in need.” 

Brian wanted to stop in his tracks, to grab hold of something, to fucking _stop_ , but it was as though Vic was pulling him through the trees with the world’s most powerful magnet. There was no way. This couldn’t be how it happened. But as Vic recited those awful words with such indifference, as though he were simply reading a passage out of a novel about the tragic fate of some two-dimensional fictional character, Brian could see they were true. With every blink of his eyes, Brian saw the scenes Vic was describing play out inside of his mind. 

_Justin, getting blown by that sleaze._

“Justin became a regular at some private parties. He was the most requested guest -- so many of those partiers, they like their boys young and tight and pretty.”

_Justin, strung out and out of his mind, being passed around, covered in come and blood._

“Until one night Justin was given a little cocktail. Just as usual, it made him more … agreeable to certain acts. But this particular mix was too strong. Justin panicked and tried to escape through the fire escape. He fell down the stairs. Cracked his skull open. He never woke up. He never made it to prom.”

Brian snapped his head up, refusing to acknowledge the image seared onto the back of his eyelids. _Justin, lying on the cold cement, blood spilling from his head, alone._

“You’re lying,” Brain said, his voice barely more than a croak. “You’re fucking lying to me.”

Vic tilted his head. “Why would I lie about this?”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Brian said. “I’ve seen the goddamn Jimmy Stewart movie. I know how this works. You’re just … you’re just trying to come up with the worst possible thing just to make me think my life was actually worth something to him. Well, it’s not going to work. That didn’t happen, you sick fuck. It didn’t fucking happen.”

Brian pulled out his cell phone. The contacts were wiped, of course, but he still had Justin’s number memorized. “Shit,” he muttered as harsh beeps sounded back to him. “Must not have paid his phone bill.”

Vic raised an eyebrow. “I wonder why that is.”

“Shut up!” Brian ran his hand through his hair, trying to think. Somebody had to know where to find Justin. If the Taylors had an unlisted number, 4-1-1 could help. But they already thought he was a fucking psycho. He had to find Daphne, then. Maybe she was in the last apartment she’d briefly shared with Justin. Or somewhere on Carnegie Mellon’s campus. He at least knew how to get around there. He could find her.

“Have you noticed where we are?”

“No, I’ve been too busy ...oh, _Christ_.”

They were in a cemetery. 

The same cemetery where they’d buried his father, the same one where they’d buried Vic.

Brian kneeled before the tombstone closest to him, dreading what he knew he’d find but powerless to look away.

_Justin Taylor  
Beloved son, brother, and friend  
1983 - 2001_

He’d imagined this, before. As he sat in the hospital, waiting for the doctors to give any sort of news, but remembering far too well how much blood was spilling from Justin’s head. And then again in the car over to Babylon, the longest three-mile drive in his life, when Justin didn’t answer his phone after the club had been bombed. Brian had played this scene in his head over and over, of visiting this grave, of standing on the ground that dared to contain the irrepressible Justin Taylor.

And yet, none of those visions he’d had, those panicked, fleeting thoughts of terror, compared to this. The utter quiet of the night, the bite of the wind nipping at his bare hands as he traced his fingertips over the inscription of the headstone. In that moment, Brian felt all those emotions he’d long accepted he’d come to associate with losing Justin: grief, agony, a complete loss of his center of gravity. But he hadn’t expected the feeling he was experiencing most acutely at the moment, the one that left him paralyzed. 

Regret.

Overwhelming, soul-crushing, heart-clenching regret.

“I’m sorry, Justin,” Brian whispered, unable to look away from Justin’s name. “I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

Just as he’d been hoping for since Justin had gone to New York, time had finally stopped. But instead of feeling at peace, Brian was catatonic, as the thought of “forever this” echoed throughout his mind. Forever this, Justin dead in the ground, Brian walking the earth as a near ghost, with no ties, no responsibilities, no life.

And, once again, it was all Brian’s fucking fault. Because finally he’d lived up to what everybody had always claimed and he’d always denied, that he was a fucking selfish asshole who thought only of himself.

“Time is short, isn’t it?” Vic said quietly. He sounded human again, but Brian was too numb to appreciate it. “I’m at peace in my afterlife, but do you know what I would give for just one day more with Monty?”

Brian shook his head. “I can’t do this.”

“You could have one more day with Justin,” Vic said. “You could have a hundred more days with him. Hell, you could have _thousands_ of them. But it all hinges on you.”

“You can change it back?” Brian asked. “This isn’t permanent?”

“I can change it back.”

“Then do it,” Brian said, still staring at the headstone. He wanted to watch it vanish into the night, the second Vic worked his magic and this fucking awful night disappeared, like just an excruciatingly bad dream.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Vic said. “I gave you a pretty powerful gift, Brian. The ability to see what life would be like without you. And now you want to throw _that_ away, too?”

Brian shot to his feet. “Change it back,” he demanded.

“What, on a whim?” Vic smiled. “So then a month from now we go through this whole ordeal again? No, I need something from you.”

“So you think you can blackmail me?” Brian clenched his fists. “Justin’s fucking dead and you want me to _do_ something for you, you sick fuck? Fucking change it back!”

“I can’t --”

“Change it back!” Brian’s hand was around Vic’s collar, clenching it tight, the force of it nearly lifting Vic off the ground. “You fucking piece of shit, you think this is a game? Do you think I _care_ what you want?”

Vic only raised an eyebrow, and in a blink, he was on the other side of the headstone, safe from Brian’s grasp. “No, probably not,” he said. “But for once in your life, you’re going to listen. Because I am going to make you a deal, a deal you would be a fucking idiot to pass up.”

Brian said nothing, his breath coming in deep, heaving gasps that burned his throat.

“I will change it all back,” Vic said calmly, as though Brian didn’t just have his hand around his neck a moment ago, “ _if_ , upon returning to your original reality, you are finally completely honest with yourself and your needs. And I’m not talking about your need to get your cock sucked or your need to always be on top, in every sense of the term, but your emotional needs. Because until you do, you’ll always be like this. Unsure. Waiting. Questioning.”

Brian snorted. “Is that all this is?” he asked, absently pounding his fist into the palm of his other hand in a steady rhythm. It reminded him of a war drum, a thought that was oddly calming. “Is that why you’re here? The world needed a redemption story just in time for Christmas to get those feel-good vibes? Rescue Brian from himself, and suddenly the world’s filled with peace and joy?”

“This isn’t a redemption story,” Vic said. “Because Brian Kinney doesn’t need to be redeemed. He needs reminding. And he knows as well as I do that there’s no better person to do it than Justin Taylor. But Brian, of course, is his own worst enemy, and won’t allow Justin close enough to do so.”

“I’m right fucking here,” Brian snapped. “You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not standing right in front of you.”

“Forgive me,” Vic said. “It’s a force of habit. You see, before I came down here, I was sitting up in Judy’s personal home beyond the great pearly gates, and do you know what I did?”

“Booze and barbiturates?”

“I watched your life,” Vic said. “Your earliest days hiding from your parents, your gawky teenage years with Michael, your initial disappointment that you wouldn’t be going to New York after college. I watched Justin go from that annoying kid you, for whatever reason, couldn’t stop fucking, to the incredible young man he is today, the only man who has ever been able to capture your heart. And all throughout the day, Judy asked me to observe. To think about who you were -- not Brian Kinney, the legend of Babylon, not even Brian Kinney, my nephew’s cocky best friend. Just. Brian.”

“And?” Brian asked. “What great theory did you come up with? Who the fuck is Brian?”

“He’s a man who doesn’t believe himself to be worthy of love, but who deserves it more than anybody. He’s taken a lot of shit in his life, but he’s selfless and generous and takes care of his friends. And despite what he says, he is more than capable of love, even if he doesn’t know how to articulate it, even if he doesn’t always know how to express it. He deserves somebody who makes him happy, who brings out the best in him and doesn’t make him feel ashamed when he reveals his vulnerabilities. Somebody who loves him unconditionally. And that person is Justin. I know it, the big man upstairs knows it, Judy knows it, Justin knows it, and _Brian_ knows it, even if he won’t admit it -- not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s afraid that if he does, somebody will discover his secret, that he ‘doesn’t deserve love,’ and it will all disappear without a trace.”

“That was a very moving tribute, Vic, and I’m -- or, should I say, _Brian’s_ \-- incredibly touched. But what about Justin? Do you think I want him to feel obligated to be with me just because he’s the … because I love him? Because he feels he owes me to stay? Because I clearly turn into a fucking wreck when he’s away, so much so I have _you_ playing guardian angel to me? You can place whatever accolades you want on me. But the fact is, _Justin_ deserves happiness, too. And I’m not about to be the one to deny him that.”

“Justin deserves the world,” Vic agreed. “He deserves love, and he deserves happiness. But can’t you see it by now, Brian? To Justin, that’s _you_. _You_ make him happy. _You_ love him in a way that nobody else could. And he knows it. Why are you denying him that, when there is one solution that would make _both_ of you happy? Other than the fact that you’re a goddamn masochist?”

Brian looked back down at the headstone, and, once again, couldn’t help but kneel down in front of it, this time bowing with his hands resting on top of it. He could hear Vic’s story of what happened to Justin in this universe ringing in his ears. Fuck, Justin deserved so much _more_. Much more than in this fucked up universe, and still more than what Brian could ever dream to offer in the original one.

“I …” He shook his head, suddenly unable to string even the most simple of words together.

“Let you in on a little secret,” Vic said. “People in love? They’re always going to think their loved one is going to deserve better, because they think they’re fucking perfect, and they’re all too aware of their own flaws. But the smart ones? They’re the ones who say ‘fuck it all, I may not deserve this, but it’s mine.’ Justin knows you better than anybody, Brian, possibly even better than you know yourself. And he _still_ loves you more than anything, or anyone, in the world. So stop torturing yourself, and him, and anybody else who has the misfortune of crossing your path. Go back to him. It’s time for the two of you to start the next chapter of your lives. Together.”

Brian gripped the headstone, only dimly aware that his knuckles were turning so white that pain was shooting through his hands. Christ, he knew he loved Justin, and he knew Justin loved him. He didn’t need Vic to tell him that. But despite everything he’d seen tonight, there was still that nagging doubt. That cruel voice cackling in his mind that Justin would be better off in the long run without him, and its equally twisted twin reminding him just how _alone_ he’d felt without Justin, refused to be silent. He could feel Vic’s eyes on him, knew he was waiting for an answer, and Brian knew it should be simple. Anything, _anything_ was preferable to what had happened in this reality. But that didn’t mean the other option wasn’t terrifying as hell.

“Christ! I knew it. It’s that psycho again!”

Brian swirled his head around. “Shit,” he muttered, watching as Craig Taylor ran toward him, pulling something that suspiciously looked like a gun out of his jacket, Jennifer only as few paces behind him. “That fucker again.”

“Craig! Don’t!”

Shit, where did somebody hide in a cemetery? Behind a headstone? Why weren’t there any fucking mausoleums here? Fucking Pittsburgh. Brian didn’t know if he would be killed, or even wounded by a gun given that he wasn’t alive, but he didn’t feel like waiting to find out. “Vic!” he hissed as loudly as he dared. “A little help?”

“I told you,” Vic said, looking just as serene as any of the stone angels marking the graves in the cemetery, “you’re the only person who can help yourself now.”

“I know you had something to do with it, you fucking faggot,” Craig snarled, stalking ever closer. “Were you one of the ones who sodomized him that night? You might as well have pushed him off the stairs.”

What was he supposed to do? Run? Hide? Fight a raging homophobe with a gun? None of the three were exactly in Brian Kinney’s repertoire.

“And now you dare hide behind his grave,” Craig said. “You goddamn coward.”

_Not as long as I’ve got you to protect me._

“Craig, stop it!” Jennifer shouted. She grabbed him by his jacket and attempted to pull him back, but he flung her off. Then, only feet away from Brian, he raised his gun, aiming it straight at Brian’s chest.

_I love that you’d do anything for me._

“Vic!” Brian shouted.

“Who’s Vic?” Craig demanded. “You were shouting for him at our house, too. Is that who you replaced Justin with? Some other poor, confused kid you got your hands on?”

_The only one who never broke a promise was you._

“You know what you have to do,” Vic said. 

_A man needs to know when to ask for help._

“It’s time,” Vic continued, his voice returning to that ethereal tone, a deafening whisper in Brian’s ears. “You need to decide. I can save you from Craig if you choose to stay with this reality, but then I’d leave you. You’d have complete freedom to live the life you dreamed of, with no ties, no responsibilities, no obligations. It would certainly be easier than confronting all that ugliness and fear inside of you. But you’d have no chance of a future with Justin. The future _both_ of you want.”

_We don’t need rings or vows to prove that we love each other. We already know that._

“Aren’t you going to say something, you fucking faggot?”

_Brian Kinney gives a shit!_

“Yeah,” Brian said. “Fuck you. I’m going home.”

“Atta boy!” Vic shouted. “Don’t forget to click your heels!”

“I’m not going to -- shit!”

A shot rang through the night, and Brian dropped to the ground. Fuck, Craig Taylor was a mad man. It was a good thing Justin took after his mother.

Unfortunately, it didn’t look like Brian was going to have the chance to tell Justin that, to tease him with the prospect while softening the words with a kiss to his mouth, his cheek, his neck. Instead he was leaning up against his headstone, and Craig was towering over him, gun poised at the ready. 

“Was it worth it?” Craig asked, his breath stale. “Was having Justin worth this? Worth your fucking useless life?”

_Sometimes you have to for what you believe in._

Brian grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

_I just want you to know that I love you. And I’ll be here when you get back._

He didn’t blink, kept his chin held high as he watched Craig squeeze the trigger. 

_Then I guess home is wherever you are._

“I’m going home,” Brian repeated, and all time seemed to spin in slow spiralling circles around him. Mindful of Vic’s reminder, he pressed his heels firmly together.

“Home.”


End file.
